Lament of Will Graham
by KnightEcho19629
Summary: Rant by the inner voice of Will Graham, not entirely cannon oriented.


I'm the most introverted person I know who isn't professionally diagnosed with some sort of mental disorder—I don't know whether it's because I'm only borderline and no one feels like I need help, or if people just don't notice that I need help, and so don't condone any mental help to my person.

I have very strict personal relationships and relationships in general. Being social is almost a complete taboo to me.

My guardian is a prime example of how my idea of relationships works—I base all of my interactions on personal gain, amusement, and trust. My guardian gives a lot to me because she is required by law to watch over me and make sure my basic needs are met. She isn't all that interesting to me, but trust conflicts because she hasn't taken care of me mentally like she pretends to, and the fake pretenses are all she shows me, so they're all that I believe at face value. When things go wrong with us, she blames it on me because she can't put herself into my mentality—and I'd be very glad for that if she didn't think it was all right to shove her opinions down my throat whenever she doesn't agree.

She also tries to force me into social situations. Once more, I am a total social outcast by my own making—I hate talking to people almost as much as I hate their presence in my vicinity. Any break in protection is warranted as an attack directly onto my person, even if they never come too close or try to start conversations with me—because there are more ways than one to tell that a person is in a room—I can hear, smell, see and breathe their foul tastes when they come, and I am very sensitive to feeling such as that if they aren't familiar.

I can understand that things sometimes need to change or be modified, but when change is unexpected it is typically unwanted. However, the more I don't want, the more my guardian wants me to do it—like meeting people even though people are a literal poison to me.

Even though I've had a great weekend hanging out with my friends, I've had almost no free time, and now that I'm away from them and I feel like I can allow myself to let go, I am collapsing. Even being near people I like completely drains me and I have almost no tolerance now to deal with school or the rest of the world. I just want to curl up and sleep and perhaps cry a bit because of how pathetic I feel I am for feeling weak when people come near me. I almost don't care to do well academically and I think that if I'm put into another group project I'll start cutting myself again like I did in middle school when there was literally no way to escape everything—I was in the after school program for most of the afternoon, and after that I'd have long rehearsal schedules involving other middle school kids who didn't know how to act or keep their hands and loud voices to themselves. Just thinking of that situation gives me a headache and belly ache like you wouldn't believe.

When my guardian asks me to meet her friends and say hello I'd like to tell her that asking me that is like asking if I'll let her friends molest me—the worst part is that, so far, meeting people _has_ been worse than being physically molested, because while my memory blanks may be coming back, they're still a blur, and they only hint to something that I know an inevitable outcome to, but when actual, physical people come, I don't know how I'll perish. Will I go slowly, losing energy until I have no more and I can't bother myself to get out of bed, dress myself, eat or sleep anymore? Or will I make things go quicker before I have to suffer a catatonic state and overdose? Perhaps I would slit my wrists and bleed out over some abandoned place after burning all of my possessions—I certainly don't want other people knowing what I think to put in those journals.

These dangers live in every waking part of my life, and nearly worse ones of an unknown origin haunt my every night to the point where I'm awake at almost all hours of a day, tossing, turning, doing homework, walking along like it doesn't bother me when it kills me and festers inside of me every day, getting stronger and stronger until it consumes me—whatever _it_ is. I don't want to call it depression—it may not be that bad yet—but then again, no one has ever taught me how to feel things like that or how to know when I feel things like that.

I'm immensely tired, I don't want to do anything, but I can't say I'm fully depressed because I am still doing things—mostly because no matter how hard I cry I know that no one will care that Im' not stable so long as they can get what they want—which is exactly what I do back to them. If I can't at least be normal and be friendly and hang out with a hundred people every day then I'll take my chances where I get them—away from the spot light—away from people, until I can feel safe and loved with a giant mill of dogs waiting around for me after work—not expecting or demanding anything of me, just wanting me to be there, to give a bit of love and attention and cuddles and special soft food and meaty treats.

Humans aren't like that. They want specific things that I'm insecure I can't give—I'm not always going to be the most impressive, or the most intellectual or the most creative—perfect people aren't just created like that, and as much as I can fake my way through life, pretending like I know that I know things, I can't truly be perfect. Sometimes I curse myself because I am not God, and I cannot give people everything they want.

I think too much and I think too little and I am too much and I am too little. I am very insignificant compared to other people and I have a small army of fierce friends that I will one day lose because I will abandon them and leave them forever and pretend that they don't exist so I can pretend like I have an actual, logical reason to hate myself when all I really want it to be in peace. I know I can ask for that peace—I know there are easier ways of getting what I want—but I know what I want and I know that it will be hard to get to that place and I know I strive for too much but when I hear those praises I think that maybe it isn't so bad hating myself for feeling like I'm less than the person I could be on another day. I will never be good enough for my own conscience; I will never feel like I can be up to par with other people, so I hate myself thinking that I hate people when all I want to do is have dogs.

So where does that really leave me?

... I'm an introvert and I've never been diagnosed. I sometimes wonder if it's because I don't really need the help, or because no one has ever thought to offer me that chance...


End file.
